


Atollon nights

by EyeLoch



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Gen, Questionable Mental State
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeLoch/pseuds/EyeLoch
Summary: After Malachor, Ezra Bridger isn't doing well.Sometimes taking action isn't the best option.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, the SWR angst off on tumbler inspired me to get into the fanfic zone for the first time in almost a decade (and, perhaps more importantly, share online for the first time!) back about half a year ago.
> 
> This is a little something that could, in theory be the beginning of a story idea I’d come up with, but I feel it stands fairly well on its own.  
> (I wrote this when I was in a rather bad place mentally - back in May/June.)

The nights were cold on Atollon.

Had he stayed a night before?  He honestly couldn’t remember anymore, not when there was so much more to think about.  How he failed.  How he killed her.  How he blinded Kanan. 

How the only victory they’d managed to salvage had been locked away from him.

Somewhere through another freezing night he realised another truth: He had to take back the holocron.  He had to open it again.  He had to understand his enemies, like Ah… like she said.  This would redeem him, and he had to redeem himself.  He had to.

(Another thing he couldn’t quite remember, what he’d done today (or was it yesterday, now?).  He’d helped with some wiring, or was that last week?  He’d cleaned Chopper?  He must have slept.  Surely.  After all, he’d certainly not slept a single night since…)

The holocron.  The holocron was in a locked box.  In a locked box in one of the storage units.  If he found it he could redeem himself.  So he moved. Slowly, hesitantly he edged down the ladder to the floor, then padded out of the cabin.

As he slipped out of the Ghost, he shivered – he’d been sweating, he idly realised, and the slight wind was making things worse.   The rebel base seemed bigger than he remembered it, with the odd actual duracrete room built up around the initial structure.  Plumbing too, he realised (as he tripped over a pipe). 

But he had to focus.  He could feel the holocron close by, calling to him.  He opened himself to it, and found a door in front of him.  Picturing the locking mechanism, the door was pulled open, agonisingly slowly.  His eyes and hands darted around in the darkness – trying to see where he felt coldest.

There!  He found the box and saw another lock.  He pulled at the mechanism, but this one was trickier.  He didn’t have time for this!  He HAD to redeem himself!

The lock shattered.

Alarms started to blare.  His prize lay before him.  He pulled away a coat, a cloak, an old painting, some locket with fur in it – there!  He had it!

He heard a voice.  It sounded like Rex.  He ran. 

He heard a voice. It sounded like Kanan. He ran.

A humming sound made him aware that he was running past the fence.  He ran.

He began to hear the chittering of krykna.  It made him think of her.  He ran.

He stumbled.  He ran.  In the dark and haste his bare foot went down hard on something sharp.  He screamed.  He fell.

His foot ached.  The holocron had fallen out of his hand.  He couldn’t seem to move.

The krykna were getting closer.  He could hear them.  He could feel them. 

He felt so cold.

When they started to drag him away, he didn’t try to resist.  At least their tunnels might be a little warmer.  That thought almost made him happy, as he slipped into unconsciousness.


End file.
